


Monopoly Money

by somekindofseizure



Category: Monopoly (Board Game) - Fandom, The X-Files
Genre: Board Games, MSR, monopoly, pre-Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6744937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully play Monopoly and things get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monopoly Money

Scully’s first choice when the power went out had been Trivial Pursuit. But they had never been able to play Trivial Pursuit without first arguing about the unfair advantage of the science chip. Scully had her own category in Trivial Pursuit and Mulder didn’t. 

“That’s because your category wouldn’t involve any facts. How would you even earn a chip?”

“By convincing the other person your theory was plausible.”

“Mulder, you trying to convince me of theories is not fun, it’s a day job.”

Monopoly it was.

The playing of anything at all was a black swan event, a literal strike of lightning. A reality made possible by warm, moist air colliding with cooler air at a mid-latitude. The storm had rolled in just after dinner, and the sky had opened suddenly, taking the TV and internet out in one fell swoop. Mulder forecasted an early bedtime, but Scully began to rummage loudly in a drawer. In a moment she was placing candles around the living room.

“It’s only eight o’clock,” she said gently, her back to him. “There are other things we can do besides watch TV.”

He heard something in her voice, the thing that always poked him right between the ribs and dilated his diaphragm. His physical reflexive response surprised him; it was like overhearing a second language you used to know and finding yourself unexpectedly understanding it.

“Like what?” he asked hopefully. It had been long enough that he needed her to ask for it now. Some nights, it would occur to him that she might be longing for the same from him. Then his self-assurance would collapse like a cheap umbrella every time she mentioned she was tired.

But he had been mistaken. The only thing she was asking for was a board game. He sighed as he marked another morbid milestone – the day he confused her desire for a boxed game with desire for him.

“We used to play games all the time,” she reminded him. Back then, Trivial Pursuit would turn into Strip Trivia, Scrabble into Strip Scrabble. Everything turned into the Strip version of itself, except Operation, which of course turned into Playing Doctor (his favorite). Tonight, it would just be regular old Monopoly, and the contrast between then and now was almost too bleak to bear. 

Thunder clapped and startled the flames of the candles as Scully set up the board. The wind was whistling through a crack in the back door he kept meaning to re-insulate. In a storm, the house felt especially isolated. It was human nature in bad weather to look out the window, see that the neighbors had lost power too, watch them start their game of Charades or start looking for flashlights. This house meant they were on their own.

Scully was seated cross-legged on the floor organizing money the color of Easter eggs, twisting sideways in a white tank top and sweats to make neat piles. In a little while, she would be slamming cabinets and losing sorely, he would be quoting Karl Marx and ranting about capitalism. Two people who didn’t give the slightest damn about money, arguing about the fake kind. All money is fake, he thought but did not say out loud. That was, for example, one of the things he’d be ranting about in an hour – no, forty-five minutes.

When it was his turn, Mulder rolled half-heartedly, moving his thimble along the board. He always chose the most boring piece. It was his tiny act of rebellion. Fuck you, stupid game, you don’t charm me with your little top hat. 

For many long minutes now, it had been silent between them. Just the numb clicking of plastic against cardboard, the rain picking at the roof like an acoustic guitar. Scully took her turn, folding her knee up and leaning her cheek against it as she studied the board. He stewed, coveting the attention it was getting from her.

“This game was developed as an educational tool, you know. To teach people that it behooves society for land and business to belong to the many rather than the one,” he said, suddenly unable to contain his haughtiness. Why was he saying “the” like that?

“So?” She was barely listening, frowning as she placed her little racecar in the Jail spot. His turn.

“So it’s hypocritical. I mean, you win the game when you force everybody else into bankruptcy and buy up the board. How does that teach anybody a lesson?”

“Because the winner winds up acting like such an arrogant asshole that no one can bear his presence for days and he is forced into deep existential loneliness.” She looked up at him with feigned innocence. “Oh wait, maybe that’s just when you win.” She smiled to lessen the blow.

“Mock me, but it really is a sad sign of who we are as a people that this game has thrived for a hundred years.”

“You’re right, Mulder, Monopoly is probably responsible for all the social and economic woes of our nation.” She was trying to roll doubles and failing.

“You’re stuck, aren’t you?” he asked, giving in to her devotion to the board, acknowledging her incarceration. She nodded.

“I’m broke. What am I going to do?”

“We could just stop playing this stupid game and go to sleep,” he suggested. She looked at him with two deep blue wells of disappointment and realigned the strap of her bra with her sleeve. It was one of his favorites. Light blue silk and black lace. He quickly chased away the fantastical notion that she was wearing it for him.

“I could give you something other than money,” she said, and this time he was too busy trying to recall the exact blue of the bra to hear it. The Thing.

“Like what?” he asked. “You’ve got nothing. You even lost Virginia Avenue.”

“Like a sexual favor.”

He sniffed huffily. Too soon, Scully, too soon.

“Well, it’s capitalism. And sex sells.”

He felt a twinge of rage well up inside him, and not at the makers of Monopoly. As far as he was concerned, their sex life was not currently on the menu for teasing. It wasn’t even in the same restaurant as teasing. It was in the hospital, in an ICU.

But when he looked at her, she was sitting still as a postcard, warm sunsetty spotlight around her bare shoulders, eyes flickering. She licked her lips slowly and shrugged, and as she did so, one breast hugged the other – a succinct and persuasive argument, a clincher. He made plans to never speak to her again if he played along and she turned out to be kidding.

“What kind of favor?”

“Manual…?”

“I don’t think this is in the manual,” he cracked. When she laughed, he felt it all through his body, into his nails, the hairs on his toes. “You’re pretty deep in it,” he said, pretending to seriously consider the board.

“I hear you, I hear you. All right. Well, oral it is,” she said, dusting her hands off. Mulder waited a moment, eyes narrowing at her, one hand on the drawstring of his sweats, poised and ready to draw. She began to crawl on all fours toward him, dragging her knees over the board, shoulder blades cutting up into the darkness like a tiger’s. Gravity pulled her shirt toward the floor and he could see down the slim passage between her breasts all the way to her cream-colored pants.

He leaned back on an elbow and pushed his sweats down his legs, scraping the last bit of them off his ankles with the balls of his feet. By the time she was kneeling beside him, he was good and ready. She could time a crawl to the cook time of his erection – that’s how well she knew him. He leaned in for a kiss, but she placed a finger over his lips.

“This is a transaction,” she taunted, sending a chill down his spine and a hot streak up his cock. She began a slow descent: her hand wrapping firmly around the bottom of the shaft, her hair landing feather-light on his thigh, her mouth opening and making a torturous approach, her breath swirling around the tip of his dick. It suddenly occurred to him that if he took what she was offering, it would feel fucking amazing... and then the transaction would be complete, the distance between them joined only in the past by a stupid board game. 

He gathered every bit of discipline he could muster and grabbed her chin, brought it up to his face with a gentle violence. 

“What’s the matter? Want to renegotiate?”

“Stop playing,” he said, a hint of warning to his voice.

“Mulder. I’m offering you a blow job in place of Monopoly money.” 

“I want you to fuck me in place of nothing, Scully. Fuck me for no reason. Can you do that?”

Her lashes fluttered as his request registered. And then they both moved, separately but at once, like trapeze artists on opposite pedestals. She, sitting up on her heels, pulling her pants down over her ass and off one leg, climbing nimbly into his lap. He, redistributing his weight to accomodate her, peeling thin yellow pieces of paper off her feet. Both sets of eyes holding tight over the expanse below. 

He glanced down her body and saw the black lace below her belly button – the bra’s matching blue silk between her legs. So she had been wearing it for him. How many other nights had he missed this? Why would she bury such vital clues under layers of clothing? He pushed the underwear aside, leaving them on out of respect for their powers. She slid easily down onto him and began to move, rhythmic and wet as the rain, offering him shelter one inch of skin at a time.

“I forgot…” she said as she worked him carefully, squeezing and releasing her thighs like a pair of lungs, sucking him up inside her like oxygen and giving him back life. He nodded for her to finish. “I forgot how good you feel.” 

The sleeves of her tank top fell off her shoulders and she slid her arms out, pushing the material down around her waist. She trickled her hands down the front of his body and he caged a palm around one of her breasts, using a thumb to massage the flesh up from under the silk. She arched her back to help him free her nipple and take it gently between his teeth. The gesture opened her further, and she sunk deeper onto him. She rolled her hips forward.

“Don’t move,” she said with that terrifying urgency that always gave him a perverse urge to move immediately. But it was just as well - the only way his erection would have a fighting chance of outlasting her was if he sat absolutely still, contributing minimally to the friction. She tented a guiding hand on his lower abdomen and rocked against him. Her head dropped back as she began to come, and he saw her at the center of the storm, creating it, commanding it. He pulled her waist against him tightly so he could feel her tense and crumble, absorb her as she melted.

He glanced at the game board over her shoulder, his hands spread across her back, taking up ninety percent of her skin, the only real estate that ever mattered to him, so take that Mr. Monopoly. He squeezed her hips hard, digging his fingers into her ass.

“Your hands… that’s going to make me come…” she said, a familiar twinge of awesome surprise in her voice. She buried her mouth against his chest, moaning into the stretched neck of his t-shirt as she finished, a holdover move from the days of thin-walled apartments.

“Scully?”

“Hm?”

“When you said ‘I forgot’… I thought you were going to say you forgot how to fuck me,” he said. Her body shook against him, her laughter as piquant an aphrodisiac as her lovemaking. 

He unclasped her bra and let it drop into their laps. She sat back and limply let him drag her shirt over her head. His hard-on ached uncomfortably, and it occurred to him that she might be letting her undress him for a shower, or for bed. She peeled the wet blue silk panties down her legs as she climbed off his thighs and turned to face the game board. Maybe she just wanted to play Naked Monopoly. That would be a new one for the list.

“That was for nothing. This is for the game,” she said as she swiped the board with one hand and lay down on her stomach, her legs framing his body, the undersides of her breasts skimming Atlantic Avenue.

Mulder held her ankles and pulled her closer, running his palms over her calves, the backs of her thighs, licking the back of his teeth as her ass rose to meet his hands. His fingers crawled into the space she created beneath her pelvis, the front of his nails tapping the Reading Railroad as he tested and touched her. Her body flinched, emitted a hot, raw sigh. He hesitated. But her voice came loose and rough up the bow of her stretched throat.

“Come on, Mulder. Get me out of jail.”


End file.
